


Message and Meaning

by caliecat



Series: Fatherhood Five-0 [2]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Family, Father's Day, Fatherhood, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliecat/pseuds/caliecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uncle Steve celebrates Father's Day. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/214100">The Guide Star</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Message and Meaning

"Hey."

Steve lifts his head from the last of Friday's paperwork. Danny's poised in the doorway, one hand propped on the glass door and the other braced against the jamb. His tie's askew, his hair's sticking up and he's radiating impatience, no doubt in a hurry to get Grace for their big weekend.

"Hey Danny. I thought you were out of here." He leans back and stretches, stifling a grin at Danny's glare.  

"I am. I mean I was, I should be, but I have a question first. You still have that Navy thing all day tomorrow?"

"Yeah. All day and night, unfortunately." He checks his watch and grimaces at the time. "Damn, I've got to be at Pearl in an hour for the briefing. So what's up?"

"We're having a Father's Day barbeque on Sunday. And Grace would like you to come."

"Grace, huh?" He smiles, touched at the invitation, knowing it isn't from Grace alone.

Danny's expression lightens and he smiles, too, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. "Yes. Grace."

"Fine. What time should I be there?"

"It's at your place."

"It is?" And he can tell he has a _face_ from the way Danny's laughing at him now.

"Come on, I can't have it at the apartment, it's too small and there's no room for grilling, you know that. I'll bring the beer and stuff for Grace, you can get the rest of it."

"Like what?"

"Just pick something up. I trust you."

"But—"

"See you on Sunday at one o'clock, babe," Danny calls over his shoulder and then he's gone.

~~~~~~~

After dragging himself home from Pearl well past eleven on Saturday night, Steve spends Sunday morning running around town searching for supplies, frustrated at the bare shelves in the food markets and specialty shops and even more so at the annoying people working there.

When a stock boy in front of an empty display case in the meat department shrugs and says, "Sorry man, it's Father's Day, everyone did their shopping yesterday and cleaned us out, try coming earlier next time," it's all Steve can do not to put him in an armlock and read him the riot act. He has to travel halfway across the island to find everything he needs and doesn't get back home until after noon.

Then there's barely enough time for a quick shower and shave before the Camaro's purring up the driveway. He hustles downstairs just as Danny and Grace burst through the front door, lugging two backpacks, three sacks of groceries, a case of beer and a mysterious white bag which Grace insists is a "secret for after we eat." She tucks it behind the couch and he forgets about it until hours later, after they've stuffed themselves full and are lazing around on the deck chairs beneath the shade trees.

His eyes are closed and he's thinking of nothing in particular when he hears a soft voice at his side.

"Uncle Steve?" Grace is standing there with an odd smile, half-happy and half-scared, the mystery bag suspended from her hand.

"Hi." He sits up and pokes her in the belly, earning a genuine smile in return. "You get enough to eat?"

Danny snorts from the table where he's setting out fresh drinks. "I think she ate more than the two of us combined. I'm gonna have to roll her home. Right down Kalanianaole Highway with all the cars."

"Daddy!" she says, scandalized, her head tilted back so she can scold him through her lashes. "That's not true."

"We'll see." He touches her shoulder and gently pushes her toward Steve. "Don't you have something to do?"

"Um, yes." She plops the bag on Steve's lap. "For you."

"Wow, thank you. What's this for? Is this the surprise?"

"It's not an interrogation, Steven. Just open it." Danny sounds irritated and Grace looks worried again.

"Okay, okay." He unties the string holding together the handles, reaches in and removes a small square box wrapped in pink tissue paper and a purple ribbon. At her nod he tears through it, but carefully and not like a maniac—and isn't it scary how Danny's voice is in his head now?—and unfolds the top to reveal a white ceramic mug nestled on its side in more tissue paper.

Decorated, hand-painted by the looks of it, with a lemon yellow sun, cotton-ball clouds outlined in blue, palm trees with wavy green fronds and curved brown trunks and two gray dolphins arching gracefully over the pointed peaks of turquoise waves.

"I made it in art class. It's called pottery."

Behind her, Danny's face has melted into that helpless affection he shows over everything Grace does, an expression Steve easily reads from long practice. _My kid made that, can you believe it, isn't she a genius, how lucky am I?_

"I know. It's beautiful, Gracie, really. Thank you.

"Turn it over."

He plucks it from the box and rotates it to display the other side. Bands of rose-pink hearts across the top and bottom. And between them, in large flowing letters, two words: _Uncle Steve._

His heart stops, then starts again. He cradles the mug in both hands as carefully as he would an egg; feels its smooth coolness against his skin, the fragile weight of it resting in his palm, sees the time and effort and care that went into its craft, hears everything it's whispering to him under the pretty colors and cheerful shapes.

Then there's movement and something else slides into view. A blue envelope.

"Here. This goes with it." She's so close her breath tickles the hair at the nape of his neck.

He lays the mug back in its nest of tissue, forcibly controlling the tremble in his hands, lifts the flap of the envelope and draws out a card.

 _For a special Uncle. On Father's Day._

It's store-bought, like the ones he sees in the Hallmark commercials on TV, embellished on the front with hearts and glitter and flowers. He opens it and begins to read, silently, to himself.

 _On Father's Day,_

 _It's easy to see,_

 _You're not just my uncle,_

 _You're like a dad to me...._

Then the rest of it blurs, the sweet lines washed away like chalk marks in the rain, the words now illegible but the message crystal-clear, the meaning unmistakable.

"Don't you like it?"

He drops the card on top of the mug, blindly reaches around her waist and tugs her forward into a hug. Her arms encircle his neck, her head tucks into his shoulder and he breathes in her innocence, squeezes tight and doesn't let go for a long, long time.

~~~~~~~

That evening, after Danny and Grace leave, Steve fires up the 1974 Mercury Marquis, formerly owned by John McGarrett, Lieutenant, U.S. Navy, and now proudly driven by his son; eases down the driveway and sets sail for Punchbowl, for Lady Columbia standing guard over the gravesites, waiting to welcome him back for his own private Father's Day celebration.

He's not sure which words he'll use, how he'll give voice to what's in his heart tonight.

But he knows exactly what he wants to say.


End file.
